Cocktails & Dreams (22 page)

“How the hell did you get in here?” Jena asked, cradling her forehead with both hands.

“My key.” Jena could hear the laughter in Leisa’s voice. “So, are you going to tell me what exactly happened last night? And why isn’t Nicholas here? And how much did you and Travis drink last night?”

Her rapid-fire questions were making Jena’s headache worse. She could see that Travis was beginning to stir, so she stood up, swaying slightly, and headed for the bathroom.

“I’ll answer the easiest question, Leis, and you can ask Trav the rest. I remember the Captain and Jose. Look in the cupboard over the fridge and see if anything else is missing, since you stocked the damned thing. I’m going to shower and drop into a coma now. If anything I need to know comes along—”
if Nicholas calls or anything
went unspoken, but understood “—you know where to find me.” Jena staggered down the hall, still drunk, and gulped down two ibuprofen with a huge glass of water before showering quickly. She pulled on a big T-shirt and dropped onto her bed as she entered her bedroom.
Maybe Nicholas will call after my nap,
she thought.

But he didn’t.

And he didn’t call the next day, either.

Or any of the following five days.

Each day Jena felt the panic rat grow stronger. Was what happened at Stevie’s and that last phone call really their goodbye? The thought made her hyperventilate. It became increasingly difficult not to call Nicholas. She desperately needed to hear his voice, at the least, but she reminded herself that she was the dummy that asked for time. Nick was giving her that, and she owed him the same courtesy.

By the middle of the second week, Jena was almost frantic for any information, but it seemed obvious that Nicholas didn’t want to talk to her. She had asked him to call, after all, and he chose not to. It, whatever they had, appeared to be over.

Conor called on the second Saturday. “Hey, Jen. Travis there?”

“Nope. Practice.” Jena finished the sandwich she was making, trying not to listen for Nicholas in the background. She’d been glad of the break from Travis’s incessant badgering her to call Nick, but she was glad to hear Conor’s voice again. Things had been strained between them since that night at Stevie’s.

Conor grunted. “Well, shit. I was looking for a racquetball partner. I need to blow off some steam and Dickolas is busy.” He paused expectantly and seemed disappointed when Jena didn’t ask.

“I’ll play with you, Con,” Jena volunteered, and was startled by Conor’s hearty laugh.

“No freakin’ way, baby. I’d mop the floor with you. I’ll wait until Travis is back.”

Jena quickly swallowed the bite of sandwich that she was chewing. “You are kidding me, right? Even you can’t be such a caveman, Conor. Tell you what—you meet me at the gym on campus, and I guarantee I’ll kick your ass. If I win, you owe me a favor to be decided later, big guy.”

“You’re on, little girl. And if I win,
you
owe
me
.” Conor laughed, still not convinced that Jena could beat him, she could tell.

They made arrangements to meet in an hour, and Jena hurried to get dressed, grinning in anticipation. This was one bet that she was fairly sure that she would win. She did work out for a living, after all.

Conor met her at the doors of the gym, whistling as he spun his finger in a twirling motion, indicating that he needed Jena to give him the full three-hundred-sixty-degree view, before folding her into a hard hug. “I missed you, Jen,” he said, before drawing back and adding with a swagger, “but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to take it easy on your skinny ass. You’re gonna die, clown.” His perfect Billy Madison impression made Jena laugh, and she squeezed his waist again, leading him through the doors as he cast a glance over his shoulder.

They quickly decided on three games. Jena knew his size was an advantage in a single game but thought that and his big mouth would wear him down as time went by, so she let him win the first time, hitting the ball low and hard, making him scramble to return it as he laughed and talked smack. The second game was closer, as Conor didn’t tire as quickly as Jena had hoped, but she finally smacked the ball out of his reach as he started to get winded from all of his trash talk. The third game was for the favor, and Jena briefly thought of what she would want Conor to do when she won. Maybe arrange a get-together with Nicholas? Did she even want that anymore? Even as that doubtful thought crossed her mind, she was hearing Nicholas’s voice in her head and feeling his hands on her skin, and she knew there wasn’t any question.

As Jena was daydreaming, Conor screamed a hit past her and brought the score dangerously close to even. Shaking her head briskly, Jena tried to get back in the game.

“I know what my favor is going to be, Jen.” Conor grunted, stretching to hit a ball that Jena thought would be out of his reach.
Fuck.

She scrambled for the rebound, slamming it against the sidewall. “Oh, yeah? What?” Jena hoped that if she kept Conor talking, he would wear out faster.

“I want you to call Nick,” Conor said. Jena stumbled, missing the return, and the score was even.

“You too, Con? I get enough of that from Travis, when he’s not at practice or hanging out with your friend.” Jena grimaced at the unintentionally whiny tone coming out of her mouth. “Nicholas has my number. He could have called me anytime.” She served the ball into the corner, hoping for the wild ricochet that she got; she was ahead.

“Nick thinks you’re better off without him and his fucked up family. He’s probably right.” Conor served strongly, and they volleyed the ball for several minutes before Jena finally missed. Breathing heavily, Conor prepared to serve again. “He’s not better off without you, though. He’s a mess, Jena. He works and goes to school. He doesn’t sleep much that I can tell, and he doesn’t eat.”

Conor hit the ball, and Jena volleyed it back to him, not saying anything as they played increasingly desperately, neither wanting to lose.

“You’re asking a lot. I just wanted you to wear a chicken suit to class,” Jena quipped, backhanding the ball out of Conor’s reach.

He was suddenly angry. “This is not funny, Jena! I’m really worried about him.” Con slammed the ball against the back wall, and it flew at her face. She instinctively ducked, and missed the shot. They played furiously for a few minutes, each picking up a point here and there, until Conor grabbed the ball as it was whizzing by his ear. “Damn it! You know the guy loves you. It’s not his fault that he can’t say it with words. He wasn’t raised like we were. He was probably put to bed with a handshake and a copy of
The Wall Street Journal
for a bedtime story.” Conor’s eyes were pleading.

Jena was stunned. And then she was angry.

“Do you honestly think I cried myself to sleep for two weeks over
words
, Conor? Fuck that! And fuck you, if you think so little of me.” She was shaking. “Anyone can say ‘I love you’ and not mean it. I don’t think I’ve heard my dad say it to my mom more than a half-dozen times in my life, but I never doubted that he felt it. We shared all of our feelings, good and bad, and that’s what I need…not some fucking
words
. I don’t know what’s going on with him, Conor,
ever
—he’s left me in limbo, like I was some damn toy he forgot out on the lawn. Some explanation…those are the only words I need.” She plucked the ball out of Conor’s fingers and slammed it against the wall as angry tears streamed down her cheeks. “There. I win. Go fuck yourself, Conor. You owe me one.”

Running off the court, ignoring Conor’s calls, Jena entered the locker room. She sank down on the bench and pressed her forehead against her knees, trying to calm the shudders that were tearing through her. After what seemed like an eternity, she raised her head and looked around. While she was sure Conor would be waiting outside the door, she was also sure he didn’t know that the locker rooms had an exit to the outside that was only supposed to be used by maintenance. Pulling on her jacket, she headed out into the parking lot, head down against the wind that was suddenly cutting.

“Jena?” A hesitant voice floated over her shoulder as she was unlocking her car door.

She turned to see the cautious smile and deep brown eyes of her last bad boyfriend.

“Peter? Oh, my God, I thought you moved to Atlanta. How are you?” They hugged awkwardly, and Peter’s corn silk hair blew in Jena’s face. They laughed, and the tension was broken.

“Yeah, well…working with my stepdad didn’t exactly work out. He hated my ass. But he did teach me a lesson about being a diva.” Peter smiled ruefully and leaned against Jena’s car. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I wanted to apologize to you.” He looked down at his hands. “I was a big baby when we were dating, and I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve to be pulled around by my crazy emotional ups and downs.”

“No problem,” she muttered awkwardly. “It was a long time ago, Peter. Forget about it. It was nice to see you again.” Jena moved to get into her car, and Peter grabbed her hand, rubbing the back with his thumb. She shivered and gently drew her hand away to rub it briskly up and down her other arm.

Peter smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean to keep you out in the cold. I just wondered…would you let me take you out to dinner? For old times’ sake? It wasn’t all bad, was it?” He pulled a face.

She smiled weakly. “No, Peter. No, it wasn’t. We had good times.”
But not like Nicholas!
her heart cried out, and she grimly pushed the thought back. She took a steadying breath. Maybe it really was time to let go. “Sure. Let’s go out to dinner.”

He was ecstatic, wrapping her in an uncomfortably tight hug before they set a date for the following Friday night. She finally convinced him that she had to get going and left him in the parking lot after another awkward hug.

And then she spent the ride home trying to convince herself that she’d done the right thing.

Lying on her bed, listening to music and still trying to convince herself that this date was a good idea, Jena faintly heard the doorbell buzz through the music pouring out of her earbuds.

“Trav, can you get that? It’s probably Peter,” Jena called. She finished listening to “True Love Way,” grimacing as even the Kings of Leon seemed to be chastising her, and sat up, smoothing down her skirt and popping the earbuds out.

“Jen, did you get the door? Nick is dropping off a movie, and I want to make sure he’s gone before your date gets here.” Travis’s voice was coming from the bathroom, and Jena heard him curse a second later. She looked up to see Nicholas standing frozen in the doorway, staring at her. Travis disappeared into his room and shut the door quietly as Jena tossed him a glare.

“I didn’t think you were here,” Nick said in a rush, looking embarrassed, “so I let myself in.” His eyes never left hers. “You have a date?” he asked, blinking rapidly, like he was trying to make sense of his own words.

Jena felt a sudden rush of guilt and pity, because Nicholas did look like hell. His eyes were deeply ringed in shadows, and it looked like he’d probably lost ten or fifteen pounds from his already lean frame. Closing her eyes briefly, she pushed herself off of the bed. Damn it, this was not her fault. Nicholas had hung up on
her
. He hadn’t called her in weeks, and now he was upset that she was going out with someone?

“Yes, Nicholas, I have a date for dinner with an old friend.” Jena cursed herself for not stopping at “dinner.” She went to slide past Nick, and he grasped her arm.

“An old boyfriend?” His voice was uneven.

“Just a friend.” She willed herself to believe that, if only until she could get away from Nicholas. Get away from his touch that was sending sparks through her body, and his smell that made her want to climb inside him and make a nest. Because, damn it, he felt like home, even now.

Nick smiled grimly, stepping closer to her, so close that she could feel the body heat radiating off him. “Liar,” he murmured, brushing her hair back from the side of her face and tugging on her ear. “These always give you away in a non-lie, remember?” He ran his hand over her shoulder. “God, I miss you,” he murmured. “Jena, you can’t do this.”